


Dont You Fake It

by roliver4



Series: The Skate Park Chronicles [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Budding Love, F/F, F/M, Foster Care, Skater Lexa, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Teen Angst, Teenagers, rebellious teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 12:18:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10662429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roliver4/pseuds/roliver4
Summary: Clarke, Bellamy, and Lincoln are acting to meet up with Lexa and Octavia where the plans to sway Aden away from the path of Azgeda will unfold...And Clarke kind of meets Lexa's SkyKru mother... except not, thankfully.





	Dont You Fake It

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys,  
> as returning to the course that I wanted this serise to take, this was all written in 1 setting.... and I apologize that the setting was at about 3am during an Overnight shift so I'm sorry if it's not the best haha. thanks again for another read!
> 
> Written to DON'T YOU FAKE IT: Red Jumpsuit Apparatus 
> 
> add me on tumblr because I love friends!!!: ROLIVER901.TUMBLR.COM

A sea of cars fills the parking lot as we dodge between S.U.V.s ad minivans, laughing at each stupid bumper sticker and half-assed comment to leave our mouths. It’s almost as if we’re not here to cause chaos-- but hell, we always were.

 

“I hate these fucking stick families,” Lincoln coughs as he taps the tinted windows of a blue Odyssey, his middle finger connecting with the glass twice before he continues walking. “Why do I care how many hellions you’ve popped out?”

 

The wheels of my skates continue to roll slowly as I take a few steps behind him, slowing my stride to account for his pause. With my shoes draped over my shoulders, I chuckle slightly at the thought of Lincoln in a minivan with three or four kids in the back, their amber eyes matching his. It would be great to see-- baby Lincoln and Octavia, but the chances of that were slim…

 

Especially right now.

 

And, actually, I’m okay with that.

 

Bellamy slides to a halt at the door, turning his handlebars to face us while he swings his leg over the bike and backing up a few steps, locking the back wheel into the bike rack before he releases it. “Hey,” he begins, removing the helmet that is never actually strapped around his neck. “Some people like their families.” Everyone grows silent for a moment before the tanned 18-year old snorts a laugh. “Or at least pretend to, I guess.”

 

I can’t help but laugh with them, taking a seat at the bench next to and beginning to unlace my skates, sliding them off of my dirt lined socks before I slide my feet into the black and red kicks, not even bothering to untie them before I shove my toes to the front. “Who the fuck likes their family?” I ask as I stand, my eyes switching between the two boys in front of me. Smiling, I slide my hands through my hair, dragging my nails across my scalp as I pull the stringy locks into a ponytail at the back of my head.

 

It’s not that I didn’t love my mother-- I had to. She was my mother… But I don’t have to like her. Unlike me, Abby Griffin just doesn’t understand.

 

“I do,” Lincoln interrupts the half-second of silence between us, throwing a heavy arm over Bellamy’s shoulder and pulling the younger, smaller boy into his armpits. With Bellamy’s face shoved into his chest, Lincoln rocks him back and forth, rubbing the top of his growing hair with the other hand. “I have the best family here!”

 

Bellamy’s muffled grunts finally escape his grasp as he pushes away, shoving his small hands against Lincoln’s massive chest. “Fuck off, you homo,” Bellamy quips, sending a small cringe through me. “No offence,” he quickly adds, tossing a single hand into the space between us. I shrug gently, pretending to not care.

 

It’s funny how this has all happened, honestly. It’s like I woke up one day and was gay… But it was also like I had been all along. It as like acknowledging that giant pink elephant in the room, while also missing his presence for the last 17 years.

 

“But you’re only half gay,” Bellamy mocks, continuing with his ignorance in his failed attempts to justify his claims. His awkward chuckles lace the conversation as Lincoln and I stare on, skate gear in hand, waiting for him to stop digging the hole, and just lie in the grave.

 

Lincoln finally decides enough is enough, I guess, and reaches out an arm, balling a fist to meet with the younger man’s shoulder, shoving him into the locked bike beside him. “Dude, chill with that shit,” he says, taking a breath before withdrawing his arm to his pants pockets. He pulls out a box of cigarettes, taking one and passing it to me before sliding his own out with his teeth. “You gotta learn to let it go sometimes,” the grumble leaves from the space between his teeth as he reaches out a lighter filled hand, the flame meeting with the tip of my cigarette and leaving behind the orange afterglow of burning nicotine and smoke trails from my lips.

 

“Bite me,” Bellamy rebuts, reaching into the back pocket of Lincoln’s jeans to take the box that he wasn’t offered, pulling a cigarette for himself before throwing it back to our tattooed friend, snatching the lighter from his hand and lighting the death stick on his own. “If you weren’t dating my sister,” he says, pocketing the lighter, “I’d wonder about you too!”

 

The smirk that began creeping its way across Lincoln’s face was nothing short of miraculous as he slowly reached out a hand, sliding it into Bellamy’s right hip pocket, maintaining eye-contact the entire way. “Really?” he asked, pulling back his tattoo covered arm to withdraw his own lighter from his friend’s pocket, still continuing to hold his gaze as he shoved his hand in his jeans pocket, smiling before looking to me and winking.

 

I could barely hold back a snort as the rugged man smiled at me, Bellamy still frozen in place beside me. Hiding my own face behind my hand, I chuckle gently against the skin, feeling the heat of my air and smelling the smoke from the nicotine burning between my fingers.

 

Just as I open my mouth to speak, a red S.U.V. pulls up, it's tires gliding to a stop in the rocky and sandy parking lot just on the other side of the grassy space three feet ahead. The tinted windows tried their best to hide the faces inside, but even through the grey paper, I could see my girlfriend's eyes as they flicker quickly between mine and Lincoln’s. I wanted to smile, but something in this moment told me not to…

 

And god, I'm so thankful for whatever cosmic body was looking out for me in that moment.

 

“Okay mom. I've got it…” Lexa grumbles, stepping out of the door with her knuckles wrapping her fingers tightly around the metal and fiberglass frame. I watched as her knuckles turned ghost white, her fingers trembling with the tension that could snap at any moment. 

 

She was a rubber band- ready to pop.

 

“Lexa,” the short haired, blonde woman continued to speak as our commander tried to close the door between them. “I’m serious. You have court in three days…”

 

“I know Nia,” Lexa retaliates, slamming the door with a final “thanks” and hopping the curb between us. As she begins to make her way through the 6 steps between us, I can't help the smile crossing my lips, even with the woman's eyes on me.

 

Lexa's mother rolls down the window of the car, calling out to the brunette one last time. “Lexa, don't mess this up for us…”

 

“Okay mom,” my girlfriend grumbles as she laces her fingers into mine. “Thanks.” With one last scowl, the older woman drives off, leaving us with our commander and the smell of burned fuel, the hole in the ozone layer screaming, but I can't help but smile.

 

I have her.

 

“So,” she chuckles, trying to shrug off the awkward interactions with her mother and ignoring my total and obvious confusion. “that's Nia. She's my mom. We don't talk about her. What's the plan?” The words come out in one complete breath, no pauses for punctuation or processing. 

 

With a small laugh, Lincoln pulls his phone from his pocket, the backlight illuminating the shadows of his features against the setting sun. “Octavia is inside at Taco Bell with the plans.”

 

And just like that, things returned to normal….

 

Or as normal as they could be when you are plotting to kidnap a 15 year old boy from his foster family when you are in a turf war with his foster sister…

  
But hell, as long as she was by my side, I could deal with this being normal.


End file.
